thr3shette

You are my love token, my muse, my attempt at savoirfaire. Yet I know I cannot quite have you. My unknowing place knows. That doesn't diminish the buzz of my thought-cage though. The bees of reason drone, searching for a foolish flower to turn into their thrall. Their work is at times difficult, and at times is not. Sometimes the hum of rationality infuses with my juices, and the wistful blossoms are caught, unawares. Trapped, they succumb to sanity, caught in the prison of propriety. Sometimes I sit here in my blue funk, and the whir of the little insects wings compacts my silly dreams. Do you taste as good as you sou

I can feel it deep inside of me. It swirls and swells in the pit of my being, tentatively pushing against my viscera. I can feel its briery feet take shape as they find a foothold in my sapwood. I can feel its bony hands take shape as they slowly reach for my life's cage. It starts to rise, this dark ancient creature, forcing its crooked back into my recesses. It will consume me. My heart begins to pound, thrashing a chaotic drumbeat, a wild sonnet. A heart song. The creature seeps into my marrow, cutting into my crust, threatening to burst out of me. Fireworks of motive and blood. It forces its way through me, graspi

It starts quietly; subtly. A simple thing can set it off. A wisp of languid smoke curling skywards; a chuckle that bursts from the belly. And then. The familiar hiss of the grey machinery, the dull ache at the base of your neck. It licks the back of your head smearing its thick tongue over your eyes, distorting your vision. Hallucinations of angry mobs and crucifixions. The throbbing escalates. It starts to smell of tires screeching on scorching hot tar. The sticky rubber odour wraps its fingers around your throat, choking the clarity from your body, forcing the insanity deeper.

She stirs; a piercing siren shatters the soft stillness of her sleep. Dreams fall as if thick hydra scales from her eyes. Oh! What is lost in these last moments! The siren echoes through the viridian canopy of interwoven trees, reverberating off of the gnarly brown branches and careening off of the icy green lichen that stains the brittle bark. She murmurs, a low muted sound. It ripples through the ochre dirt, waking the worlds darkest desires. The earth weeps at the newfound knowledge! As she shakes herself free from the warm grasp of the night, one almond eye languidly opens, letting the day in. Without urgency, the seco